


僕に気付いてくれ [Notice Me]

by besanii



Series: 学園小説 [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Meetings, Japanese Culture, M/M, Older Enjolras, Pining, younger grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 14:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1692509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/pseuds/besanii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is a senior, bound for Todai’s prestigious politics program next autumn, top of his class – and the President of the Student Council body.  He is, as Grantaire also soon finds out, one of the most popular students in the school.</p>
<p>In which Enjolras is the senior Student Body President and Grantaire is a freshman who gets lost on his first day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	僕に気付いてくれ [Notice Me]

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](http://besanii.tumblr.com/post/86588827448/or-theres-the-alternative-with-enjolras-being-older) on Tumblr, sent to me again by an anon in response to my request for Japanese anime high school headcanons.
> 
> If you haven't already noticed, the aim of the game here is to hit as many of the anime clichés as possible without resorting to fangirl Japanese. I hope I've pulled it off!

Grantaire is late to his very first day of senior high.

He runs pell-mell towards the school gate, his bookbag smacking rhythmically against his back with every step, and manages to cross the threshold just as the chime sounds overhead.  He joins the last of the stragglers entering the main building in hopes that one of them will lead him to the freshmen assembly, but they all disappear into classrooms and down corridors until he is the only one left.

He’s looking around for some sort of map or floor plan on the walls, when a voice rings out.

“Hey, you – freshman!”  He cringes at the sight of two seniors striding down the corridor towards him, their pins gleaming beside their red ties.  “Why aren’t you at the assembly?”

They come to a stop beside him and Grantaire notes with dismay that even the shorter of the two towers over him by a head.  His mop of curly, mouse-brown hair falls into his face with a rakish sort of charm, while his taller companion sports a more close-cropped style around his spectacles.  Grantaire runs a hand through his own dishevelled hair, self-conscious.

“I – uh, couldn’t find where it is,” Grantaire stammers.  The taller boy smiles at him.

“It’s in the auditorium,” he says, pointing at a set of double doors to their right.  “Just go through those doors and it’s the building on your left.  You can’t miss it.”

“You wouldn’t want to either,” the other boy adds with a grin.  “It’s Enjolras’ first presidential speech of the year.  That’s always exciting.”

Grantaire is burning with curiosity about this Enjolras, but before he can ask, the second chime sounds over the PA system and he makes a mad dash for the auditorium before he misses the assembly entirely.  He chances a glance over his shoulder and sees the two boys still bickering as they continue on their way.

 

\--

 

He ends up missing the speeches altogether, slipping into the back row with a disapproving glare from the deputy principal standing by the door.  All that’s really left of the assembly is the instruction to assemble in their designated class groups, as written in their information packet, and follow their teacher to first period.

He fishes the thick envelope from his bag and pulls out his timetable, with the numbers “1-3” printed in big letters on the top right corner.  The group in question is assembled at the other end of the room, closer to the stage, and he has to pick his way through all the other students to get there.  It’s all a jumble of shoulders and elbows; he gets jostled around until he’s shoved out of the aisle and has to grab onto the back of one of the plastic chairs for balance.

“Are you alright?” someone asks him.

An outstretched hand comes into his line of sight, drawing his gaze upwards until it lands on the brightest pair of blue eyes he has ever seen.  Their owner offers him a reassuring smile.

“It’s a bit of a madhouse here,” he says, pulling Grantaire to his feet.  His hand is warm, his grip strong, and it sends a tingle along Grantaire’s arm from where their palms meet.  “Try not to get trampled, alright?”

Grantaire nods, mostly because he can’t seem to find his voice.  He watches as the boy walks past, followed by several others, until they disappear around the doorframe.  His hand is still warm, but now it also itches for the notebook in his bag and a pen to sketch those eyes before the memory of them leaves his mind.  But then the crowd surges again and he has to dive back into its midst to get to his class.

 

\--

 

He spends the first week sitting in his seat in his classroom, doodling in his notebook as each teacher drones on about the syllabus for their subject.  Most of his drawings end up being of blue eyes framed by dark lashes, and of a warm smile.  He finds them staring back at him from his notebook and blushes despite himself.

First years don’t hold elections for their class representatives because they don’t know each other well enough yet, and that’s how Grantaire ends up being chosen as the class rep for the first semester – purely at random.  Most of his duties involve fetching things from the staffroom for the teacher, photocopying notes and taking attendance, which are all jobs Grantaire has done before in middle school.  He also has to attend student council meetings once a fortnight.

And that’s how he meets Enjolras.

Enjolras is a senior, bound for Todai’s prestigious politics program next autumn, top of his class – and the President of the Student Council body.  He is, as Grantaire also soon finds out, one of the most popular students in the school.

He leads the student council meeting by asking everyone to introduce themselves and their class.  Grantaire spots the two boys who had given him directions on the first day – Combeferre, the vice president, and Courfeyrac the secretary – and they wave at him in recognition when he introduces himself.  Enjolras, however, merely smiles and nods before moving on, without any indication that he remembers who Grantaire is at all.  He tries not to feel disappointed.

They discuss the upcoming school year and Enjolras announces the schedule for the main school events – the cultural and sports festivals, the music festival, and the school anniversary – and urges them to start thinking about what their classes will do for each one and submit them before the events.  Grantaire, who plans on resigning from his position as soon as humanly possible, focuses on his drawings of Combeferre squashing Courfeyrac under a pile of books.

He doesn’t get to speak to Enjolras at all in the following weeks, what with the sudden onslaught of homework and assignments.  He catches glimpses of him in the hallways and schoolyard between classes, but the most proximity he gets is in that tiny classroom every Wednesday afternoon.  He stills at the end of the row, cursing the fact that the desks have been arranged into an inward-facing horseshoe so that he can’t really hide his face except behind the person who sits beside him, and continues doodling on his copy of the agenda.

 

\--

 

About three months into the semester, he’s tasked with submitting their class proposal for the music festival to the student council.  He decides to go early and slip it into the dropbox in the empty classroom rather than hand it to the executives themselves, to avoid having to elaborate on their idea in person.  When he slides open the door, however, it isn’t empty.

“Ah,” he says dumbly.

Enjolras looks up from where he’s standing by the window, a folder in his hands.  Grantaire tries not to think about the way the sunlight hits his blonde hair just so, fights the rising blush in his cheeks, and instead holds up the forms he’s clutching in a death grip.

“Papers – for the music festival,” he stammers.  Enjolras smiles and holds out a hand for them.

“You’re really early,” he says.  “Good on you.”

“Yeah, we uh – we had a lot of good ideas,” Grantaire tells him.  “Thought we should get ours in before someone else takes it.”

“Smart thinking.”  Enjolras hums as he skims through the forms.  He clips them into the folder in his arms when he’s done and places it down on the desk.  “I have to show the rest of the execs before we can give you formal permission, but I really like your idea.”

There’s no way Grantaire can fight the blush now.  His ears burn and his lips twitch uncontrollably as he tries to suppress the urge to whoop and punch the air.  Because that would be absolutely ridiculous, not to mention incredibly embarrassing.  Still, he allows himself a pleased smile, which Enjolras returns.

“I’ll um – I’ll see you later at the meeting then, senpai?” Grantaire says, edging back towards the door.

“Yes, of course.”  Enjolras blinks and cocks his head thoughtfully to one side.  “It’s Grantaire, isn’t it?  From class 1-3?”

Grantaire is absolutely certain that his heart is in his throat, because when he opens his mouth to speak, he only manages a strangled croak.  He follows it up with frantic nodding.  Enjolras graces him with another warm smile.

“You should consider speaking up in meetings, Grantaire,” he says.  “With your ideas, I think you would do well in the student council.  I do hope you stay on next semester.”

“Thank you, senpai,” Grantaire breathes, and bolts out of the room.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com/)


End file.
